and lets loose a thin howl, hoping for response—for explanation.
The pack waits for a reply to travel through the silvered night, but none comes. So she puts her nose to the ground to follow the scent, and the pack follows her.
They are wide-ranging, fanned out through the forest, claiming their territory, watching for danger. Prey of every sort crisscrosses their path, and her wolves yip at her, telling her they’re hungry and that food is close. Time enough for that later. She trots on, and the stranger’s scent grows stronger.
They leave the forest and reach an open meadow, a rolling field of grass tucked between hills, glaring with the brightness of the moon. She hangs back, unwilling to expose the pack without more information. They pace behind her. Her mate nudges her shoulder and looks over the wide space with her.
Far ahead, there is movement in the grass. The stranger is here. She also smells blood, freshly spilled. A growl sticks deep in her throat when she realizes what has happened. At the far edge of the meadow, a wolf is eating, moving around a carcass, ripping away mouthfuls. But it’s the wrong prey—a scent they have always avoided. Rich prey, so easy to kill, but they have never hunted it, they can’t, not if they want to stay hidden.
Her hackles rise stiff as boards. She howls again, a long note that falls away. The distant wolf, gray and tawny in the moonlight, pauses and looks up. He sings back, a bright tone that leaves her confused—it’s a greeting, a call to wolves who share territory. Not an invader at all. At least he doesn’t think so.
But he has hunted without the pack, and hunted badly. She feels a driving need to see him cower.
She pushes her mate and huffs at her strongest, her enforcer, one of those who leads the hunts. Together, they run, stretching to cross the field of grasses in long strides. Her hope is that this wolf will see them coming and drop to show his belly.
He does not. Instead, he stands on the carcass he has killed, in victory, in dominance. She pins her ears, lips contracting to bare her teeth at him. When he meets her gaze—a calm, unconsidered challenge, a rage fills her. She charges. Her mate and her second are with her, as is right. Reaching the challenger first, she crashes into him, jaws open and claws reaching. He rears to meet her—and falls away. Tumbles off the bloody meat he’s been picking at. Her mate and enforcer circle. The challenger sidles away, tail lowered. Not between his legs. Not quite submissive. But he’s dropped his gaze.
He’s larger, she can’t stand over him, can only show dominance by glaring, curling her lips. Stand between him and his kill, show her anger. He circles, paces. Mostly seems confused. As if he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. As if he doesn’t know the rules.
Her mate and enforcer run at him, nip at him, and together they drive him to join the pack. She follows at a stiff-legged lope, looking back once at the half-eaten carcass. Much meat is left. She’s tempted to make use of it, but they’ve already left too much sign of their passing. The urge to flee this tainted spot overcomes her hunger.
The pack has scattered. The deer they might have hunted together has been forgotten in favor of easier, smaller prey. They hunt from desperation now, for rabbits or such, for the scant morsels they can find. Not the organized feast they could have had. For the moment, she has lost control. So she runs, and runs, kills what she can, a couple of rodents, swallows them whole. Runs again. A cry stops her. An arcing note, echoing against the night sky, stabs into her mind, and calls her back.
Her mate meets her halfway. Nips her ear. She yawns at him, rubs herself along his side, fur to fur, and finally feels right.
The pack gathers in their night’s den. All of them, even the stranger. The others give him wide berth. She snaps at him, drives him off in a run before letting him circle back. Just to show
The pack waits for a reply to travel through the silvered night, but none comes. So she puts her nose to the ground to follow the scent, and the pack follows her.
They are wide-ranging, fanned out through the forest, claiming their territory, watching for danger. Prey of every sort crisscrosses their path, and her wolves yip at her, telling her they’re hungry and that food is close. Time enough for that later. She trots on, and the stranger’s scent grows stronger.
They leave the forest and reach an open meadow, a rolling field of grass tucked between hills, glaring with the brightness of the moon. She hangs back, unwilling to expose the pack without more information. They pace behind her. Her mate nudges her shoulder and looks over the wide space with her.
Far ahead, there is movement in the grass. The stranger is here. She also smells blood, freshly spilled. A growl sticks deep in her throat when she realizes what has happened. At the far edge of the meadow, a wolf is eating, moving around a carcass, ripping away mouthfuls. But it’s the wrong prey—a scent they have always avoided. Rich prey, so easy to kill, but they have never hunted it, they can’t, not if they want to stay hidden.
Her hackles rise stiff as boards. She howls again, a long note that falls away. The distant wolf, gray and tawny in the moonlight, pauses and looks up. He sings back, a bright tone that leaves her confused—it’s a greeting, a call to wolves who share territory. Not an invader at all. At least he doesn’t think so.
But he has hunted without the pack, and hunted badly. She feels a driving need to see him cower.
She pushes her mate and huffs at her strongest, her enforcer, one of those who leads the hunts. Together, they run, stretching to cross the field of grasses in long strides. Her hope is that this wolf will see them coming and drop to show his belly.
He does not. Instead, he stands on the carcass he has killed, in victory, in dominance. She pins her ears, lips contracting to bare her teeth at him. When he meets her gaze—a calm, unconsidered challenge, a rage fills her. She charges. Her mate and her second are with her, as is right. Reaching the challenger first, she crashes into him, jaws open and claws reaching. He rears to meet her—and falls away. Tumbles off the bloody meat he’s been picking at. Her mate and enforcer circle. The challenger sidles away, tail lowered. Not between his legs. Not quite submissive. But he’s dropped his gaze.
He’s larger, she can’t stand over him, can only show dominance by glaring, curling her lips. Stand between him and his kill, show her anger. He circles, paces. Mostly seems confused. As if he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. As if he doesn’t know the rules.
Her mate and enforcer run at him, nip at him, and together they drive him to join the pack. She follows at a stiff-legged lope, looking back once at the half-eaten carcass. Much meat is left. She’s tempted to make use of it, but they’ve already left too much sign of their passing. The urge to flee this tainted spot overcomes her hunger.
The pack has scattered. The deer they might have hunted together has been forgotten in favor of easier, smaller prey. They hunt from desperation now, for rabbits or such, for the scant morsels they can find. Not the organized feast they could have had. For the moment, she has lost control. So she runs, and runs, kills what she can, a couple of rodents, swallows them whole. Runs again. A cry stops her. An arcing note, echoing against the night sky, stabs into her mind, and calls her back.
Her mate meets her halfway. Nips her ear. She yawns at him, rubs herself along his side, fur to fur, and finally feels right.
The pack gathers in their night’s den. All of them, even the stranger. The others give him wide berth. She snaps at him, drives him off in a run before letting him circle back. Just to show
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